Anything Goes
by orangeflavor
Summary: One-shots and drabbles of varying genres. Ensemble cast. Expect healthy doses of angst. Chapter Twelve summary: "As the monastery billows smoke and ash and clouds of blood-tinged cinders behind them, Samara remembers her blue-eyed daughters."
1. Detonation

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: The majority of these are drabbles done with prompts from the Mass Effect Fanfiction Writers' Facebook page, and the supplied prompt and characters will be posted with each drabble. Please enjoy.

Anything Goes

Chapter One: Detonation

Prompt: Wrex + Cerberus/Ex-Cerberus

"Haunted"

" _Shepard is dead. And the mission has failed."_ \- A series of one-shots and drabbles in the ME universe inspired by prompts in the Mass Effect Fanfiction Writers facebook group.

Wrex looks up at Shepard's blood-curdling and then suddenly blunted cry.

The swirling, harsh dust of Tuchanka whips through the air. The heat presses down on him like the weight of the past. There is blood, hot and acrid, on the wind. Some of it his.

Wrex can see Shepard's form up on the platform, slumped against the rail, his legs bent at unnatural angles. Even from this distance, Wrex can see the former Spectre's shoulder and left side of his head blasted off.

Shepard is dead. And the mission has failed.

Wrex's blood rushes violently through him, his whole body enflamed with a wrath and a desperation he can taste along his tongue.

Hours ago, while on the Normandy, Shepard had called him from Tuchanka's surface to tell him about the "Cerberus" bomb. He had calmed (only barely) his rage at the turian Primarch and listened to Shepard. He had promised his assistance, boarding one of the Normandy's shuttlecraft while they waited in orbit for their commander.

Wrex never was good at waiting. He had landed in the midst of the battle between Cerberus forces and Tarquin Victus' unit. And he had plunged, full-force, into a fight that had started centuries ago.

A fight that had _continued_ to go on.

Pointlessly. Endlessly.

Bodies upon bodies and fear upon fear. That was the unspoken bond between turians and krogan. The buried, threatening terror that had lived in their hearts for years. That had lived even within their own fucking _planet_.

A bomb. A promise. A haunting reminder that it never ends.

Wrex pants with the rage and exhaustion of the fight, his right eye blinking through a stream of blood along his face, his left arm broken and useless beneath the charred remains of his armor. He looks down to where his foot is braced against the chest of a Cerberus Centurion grasping wildly and painfully at the krogan's leg between gasping pleas.

Everything falls away.

Wrex wonders if they might have beaten the Reapers. If he might have lived to see it otherwise. He wonders if this moment isn't exactly what the krogan were headed for, all those centuries ago.

He levels his shotgun between the Centurion's eyes and pushes his heavy boot further into the man's chest until he almost crushes his lungs. The man chokes and cries, flailing his arms uselessly.

This, Wrex can still do. Put a bullet between the eyes of a face that reminds him how the past _never_ stays buried. This he can still do. Before he is gone forever.

He pulls the trigger. The man's face is blown off. The bomb detonates.

Wrex wonders if the galaxy will forget him.

Or if maybe, just maybe, like the rippling wave speeding from the explosion, some corner of the universe might tremble at his touch.


	2. Breakfast

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: GASP. I wrote in past tense. The world has now tilted on its axis. Please enjoy.

Anything Goes

Chapter Two: Breakfast

Prompt: Garrus + James

"You shouldn't eat that."

"' _Well, tough shit soldier,' Garrus interrupted, his harsh bark of laughter making the man jump. 'Guess you picked a bad time to sign up.'"_ \- A series of one-shots and drabbles in the ME universe inspired by prompts in the Mass Effect Fanfiction Writers facebook group.

Garrus and James had cornered the last Cerberus soldier in the lab. He slumped against the wall alongside the hanger door, his helmet lying on the floor next to him. He was panting from the recent firefight, his body bruised and aching from Garrus' concussive rounds. He pulled at the collar of his uniform beneath his armor uncomfortably.

The two Normandy crew leveled their rifles on him, their eyes hard and dangerous. Garrus was the first to speak, his voice a low timbre. "Alright, listen up buddy. Now either you give us the access code to the hanger or my partner here puts two rounds in your skull." He nodded beside him to James.

James smirked, dark and menacing. "That's if _my_ partner doesn't get to it first."

The young Cerberus grunt looked up at them from his sprawl on the floor, shifting his eyes between them frantically. "Okay, calm down, _please_ ," he began, voice shaking, arms held up in a surrender. "Look, I'm just a recruit. I didn't even –"

"Well, tough shit soldier," Garrus interrupted, his harsh bark of laughter making the man jump. "Guess you picked a bad time to sign up."

James chimed in. "Because you see, we've got a bit of a thing for Cerberus cabrones like you."

"Mm-hmm. A pretty violent thing." Garrus thrummed his talons along his rifle promisingly.

James smirked as they continued, back and forth between the two of them, watching the man's wide and frightful eyes. "Blood and guts. Mangled bones. Some nasty shit. It ain't pretty, amigo."

"Especially when it's yours."

"And I've been itching for some Cerberus action lately."

"You really don't want to test him, son."

"Yeah, because I eat guys like you for breakfast."

Garrus blinked up at James, his rifle lowered minutely. "Whoa now. That escalated quickly."

James caught his next words in his mouth at Garrus' surprise, thrown out of the moment. "What?" He couldn't help but think of how absolutely _pathetic_ his "what" just sounded. He groaned inwardly.

Garrus leaned back on one leg and turned to James, his whole posture loosening. "I mean, you really shouldn't eat…that." He motioned to the man on the floor with his rifle.

The Cerberus soldier blinked at them silently, his shoulders going slack.

"What? No, it's – ay dios mio, it's just an expression." James ran a hand down his face, his other hand lowering his rifle.

Garrus just watched him for a moment, mandibles fluttering. Then he turned back to their captive, though he continued to speak to James. "Well." He shifted his weight to his other leg. "It's a ridiculous expression. But continue."

James groaned and threw a look at the turian, waving his free hand through the air as he spoke. "Look, you've totally killed the vibe already. Don't you know the rules of improv? Always agree. Just _go_ with it. How am I supposed to intimidate him now?"

Garrus cocked a brow plate his way. "I don't know. Maybe you could start by avoiding cannibalistic references."

The forgotten man on the floor raised his eyebrows at the two. "You know guys, maybe I could –"

"Tsst! No one's talking to you, pendejo," James shushed him. He turned back to Garrus. "See? Now he thinks we're all buddy-buddy. Ten points for that one, Garrus. Ten points." He shook his head.

Garrus raised his shoulders in defense, a scoff leaving his mouth. "How is it my job to know every lame human expression in the book?"

"I don't know. Ask your girlfriend maybe?"

"You know, you're right, Vega. Let me put 'human catchphrases' on my list of important things to run by Shepard when she's in the _middle of a_ _galactic war_. That'll go over smoothly."

"Alright, alright. Just chill." James put a hand in the air, palm down, and then pushed air in what was supposed to be a calming gesture.

Garrus only narrowed his eyes at the man.

James sighed. "Look, we still need to get into that hanger." He glanced back down to their captive who he found shaking his head, one hand to his temple. James frowned. "How likely do you think it is we can still scare this guy shitless?"

Garrus rolled his eyes. "On a scale of you to me? Not very."

"Alright, that's it," the man below them started, pulling his hand from his forehead and looking up at them. "You know, I'll open the fucking hanger for you guys if you would just _shut up_."

The two Normandy crew simply looked at him. And then they looked at each other, faces sliding back into smirks.

James shifted his rifle in his grip. "Well, that's not very nice. Garrus, do you think that was very nice?" He cocked his head at the turian.

"No. Not nice at all."

"You know, that was so not nice I think I might be getting hungry."

Garrus inclined his head toward James. "Didn't get breakfast earlier?"

James' smirk spread into a full-blown smile. "Now you're catching on, Scars."


	3. Hidden Things

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Anything Goes

Chapter Three: Hidden Things

Prompt: Kasumi + Morinth

"Interrupted"

" _There is something dark and promising to the asari's gaze."_ \- A series of one-shots and drabbles in the ME universe inspired by prompts in the Mass Effect Fanfiction Writers facebook group.

Kasumi knows how to find hidden things.

How to look between the shadows. How to recognize the significant and the meaningless. How to live in secret.

Unknowing of the asari's true identity, Kasumi watches the face of Morinth as Shepard talks with the kiosk attendant. The Nos Astra docking port is bustling all around them.

The false Justicar is looking out over the open horizon of lights, her eyes tracing the bright flashes of movement. Glinting. Swift. Riveted.

There is something dark and promising to the asari's gaze. Something far off and yearning. The steady, patient eagerness of a hunter. The thrill of danger blooming beneath her skin. Morinth blinks.

It is gone.

Kasumi swallows tightly at the image, before Morinth turns those gleaming, unknowable eyes on her, and whatever thought she might have been thinking is cut short. Interrupted. Halted in its blossoming creation.

The imposter smiles at Kasumi, slow and unassuming. There is tenderness to the lilt of her lips that makes the breath tight with warning in Kasumi's chest.

Shepard calls their attention and they are moving on.

The thief chances a glance at the elegant, fluid motion of their asari companion.

She moves with threatening grace. Her eyes flick through the crowd with predatory appraisal.

Something sinks inside Kasumi then, and the half-thoughts are rushing back, flooding her system with the slow-burn of hesitant terror.

She wonders if Samara screamed in the end.


	4. The Ones She Saves

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: I love femShep and Ash. Romantic or not.

Anything Goes

Chapter Four: The Ones She Saves

Prompt: Shepard + The Virmire Survivor (Kaidan or Ash)

"Shepard's fish"

" _Ashley hesitated a moment, still unsure of how to act around Shepard. She remembered a time when she would have followed this woman anywhere."_ \- A series of one-shots and drabbles in the ME universe inspired by prompts in the Mass Effect Fanfiction Writers facebook page.

"Come in."

Ashley heard Commander Shepard's voice through the intercom and she tapped the necessary keys along the console for the cabin door to open. The lieutenant commander stepped through the threshold and felt the soft _whoosh_ of the door sliding closed behind her. "Shepard? I've got the transfer log you…" She trailed off as she stepped further into the room and saw the other woman squatting on the floor before her fish tank, face level with the bottom of the glass, one hand spread resting along the tank. Ashley stopped, datapad held limply at her side. "Uh, Commander?"

Shepard turned to look at her, her short blonde hair sliding back from her cheek and there was a sad smile pulling at her lips. Her light brown eyes seemed to be lost in a time Ashley would never know. She tapped a finger softly along the glass where her hand rested. "Just finished feeding them."

Ashley hesitated a moment, still unsure of how to act around Shepard. The lieutenant commander had only just been reassigned to the Normandy in the wake of the Cerberus coup. In fact, her transfer request was why she had come to Shepard's cabin in the first place, carrying the datapad with the required forms to initial. She had been relieved when Shepard agreed to her rejoining the Normandy, but she didn't expect a smooth transition. Didn't expect the ease and acceptance she had known on the SR-1. Shepard had proven her trustworthiness. Ashley felt it was her turn now. Her turn to earn back Shepard's confidence, her loyalty, her friendship. Things had been tense. They had been worse than tense. They had been harsh and cutting and backs turned from each other.

Ashley didn't want that. She remembered a time when she would have followed this woman anywhere. She remembered a time when she had felt that bright blossom of relief in her heart when Shepard had come for her on Virmire. She remembered sitting in somber silence with her after Kaidan's funeral, their hands linked, their backs straight.

Ashley remembered what Shepard looked like when she cried.

She cleared her throat, stepping closer to the squatting woman, hands held behind her back.

Shepard turned her gaze to watch the fish gliding through the tank, her smile wondrous and childlike. It made Ashley's heart clench tightly.

"This one's Mordin," Shepard offered, a finger pointing to the Prejek Paddle Fish flitting through the water close by her face.

Ashley swallowed tightly and looked down at Shepard. "Mordin?"

Shepard continued to stare at the fish, her mouth pulling into a tight line. "Yeah. See that large spot near its tail? Reminds me of his eyes. So big and black." She chuckled, and it sounded like crushed innocence to Ashley.

The dark-haired woman watched the fish in silence, her brows furrowed.

Shepard sighed, and the sound pulled Ashley's attention to her pained face. "Maybe I can keep this one alive."

Ashely blinked, her breath slowly leaving her. Shepard's words had lodged somewhere deep inside her, where she kept close the memory of Kaidan and her comrades in the 212. Where she kept even the memory of Shepard, the tearing, painful remembrance of their last moments aboard a broken Normandy, and the cold embrace of Alchera when they had landed and she had looked for her and looked and looked and found nothing.

Nothing but emptiness.

Ashley blinked back the memory and shook her head, lowering herself down to crouch beside Shepard.

The blonde woman turned her gaze to Ashley and cocked her head, narrowing her eyes as though seeing her for the first time.

Ashley searched her gaze for a moment, her mouth opening in hesitance. "What do you mean 'keep this one alive'?" The words were low and careful, her eyes never leaving the commander's.

Shepard pulled in a heavy breath, rocking back and forth on her heels. "Well, I didn't do a fair job of the real one, now did I?"

Ashley had read the reports. Knew the events on Tuchanka when the brave salarian had cured the genophage. She never knew how affected Shepard had been.

Shepard looked back at the tank and moved her hand lovingly along the glass. "Guess I've got to get one for Thane now, too."

Ashley sighed, placing the datapad in her hand on the floor and looking up at the fish, the dim blue backlights of the tank casting shadows around the cabin. "Skipper, I don't…I don't think this is very healthy."

Shepard shrugged her shoulders and quirked her lip in a motion that might have been defeat or might have been amusement. The stark uncertainty of it shook Ashley. "I save them all, you know."

Ashley only furrowed her brows in question.

"All the ones I couldn't save out there. I save them in here. Every day. I keep them safe." Shepard's eyes never left the tank. Her fingers curled along the glass and her breath raked through her chest. "I keep them safe," she whispered, her eyes suddenly wet.

Ashley's mouth was parted but the words never came. She only sat there, watching this soft and hidden Shepard, wrapped in shadowy blue light. She felt the ache in her chest rise up in her throat and her hand was moving before she knew what she was doing. She pressed her hand to Shepard's curled fingers along the glass, her touch warm and shaking.

Shepard flicked her gaze to Ashley's, her brown eyes wide and glazed with unshed tears.

Ashley felt a heavy smile form along her lips, her fingers clenching tightly around Shepard's. "You saved me," she choked out. Her smile widened, shaky and halting and telling of years past that she will never give up. Never forget.

Shepard's lips parted but the sound was muted. She had no words. So she pulled her hand from the tank and threaded her fingers through the other woman's, held them tight and didn't let go. Watched her in steady silence and felt their shared pulse between their hands.

Shepard thought that maybe – just maybe – she could be saved, too.

Ashley cleared her throat and blinked, looking back up at the tank, her other hand wiping along her eyes. "What's that one's name?" she asked, pointing to a small, brightly-colored Thessian Sunfish that flitted by the glass, seemingly curious about the two women before it darted quickly across the tank, it's shimmering scales flashing brilliantly.

Shepard followed Ashley's gaze and smiled unabashedly when she caught sight of the Sunfish. "That's Kaidan," she said warmly. "He's a resilient fucker."

Ashley laughed and it was contagious. Shepard joined in, her free hand curling into a fist to rub at her eyes, her knuckle digging into the socket.

"Sounds about right," Ashley joked, flickering her gaze to her commander.

Shepard sniffed loudly and expelled a weary breath, her laughter soft and nostalgic.

They kept their hands linked between them for a long, long time.


	5. Requiem

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: Written in roughly 45 minutes. Still relatively proud though.

Anything Goes

Chapter Five: Requiem

Prompt: Jacob + Zaeed or Liara

"Beneath the city"

" _Shepard had been the only common thread between them for a long time. And then it was the Reapers. And then it was the Battle of London. And now it was death."_ \- A series of one-shots and drabbles in the ME universe inspired by prompts in the Mass Effect Fanfiction Writers facebook group.

Zaeed rubs a hand down his face and sighs, leaning back into the rubble. A single, momentary breath of relief as London dies around him. He drops his hands to dangle between his knees as he sits on the concrete of a blown-out wall. His rifle leans up against the rock beside him. There is blood and soot along his tongue. He and Jacob had lost almost all of their regiment in the battle through the streets. The rest had scattered. Every man for himself. Something inhuman howls in the distance.

The shaft of light behind the Destroyer shoots up into space where Zaeed knows the Citadel waits in cold and silence.

The final push.

But he is just so tired.

"Hey," Jacob coughs on the ground beside him, one hand clenching tightly to the gunshot wound along his ribs. A trail of blood thickens down his chin.

Zaeed is already counting down the minutes, filled with a twisting empathy for the dying man.

Or is it jealousy?

The mercenary's shoulders fall, his gaze shifting over the darkened London horizon. "Yeah, Taylor?" he chokes out.

This goddamn smoke and ash.

Jacob coughs once more, turning his face into the dirt, a cloud of dust billowing up from the puff of air he raggedly exhales. "Can you…can you find Brynn for me? After," he stops, wincing, fingers clenching in his ruined chest. "After all this." Another cough.

Zaeed sighs. "Sure, mate." His throat is tight with dragging exhaustion and words that he thinks one should say when someone's dying at their feet. But he has never been one to cradle death when it comes. He has always watched it stoically. Defied it when it called to him. Aided it when it was his turn to deal.

But he has never held its silken darkness in his own palms and put a face to it.

He isn't even sure he'd call Jacob Taylor a friend.

Comrade, sure. Drinking buddy. Reluctant teammate.

Shepard had been the only common thread between them for a long time. And then it was the Reapers. And then it was the Battle of London.

And now it was death.

He has a face full of scars and a mouth full of rage for it.

But his muscles ache and his feet won't move and Zaeed thinks that really, maybe Jacob got off easy.

"Make sure she's safe." Jacob's pleading choke of words pulls Zaeed's attention back. The former officer's eyes are slightly glazed, his brow furrowed as he looks out across the distance, away from Zaeed.

And how the fuck Jacob thinks Zaeed could possibly find her in this madness, he doesn't know. But he doesn't say anything. Doesn't tell him that it's pointless.

Because it is.

Zaeed has already spent his last heat sink and there is nothing around them but bodies and the rank smell of their own unlived years.

"A light," Jacob whispers, eyes shifting hazily over the beam in the distance that connects the London skyline to the Citadel. He reaches a trembling, dirt covered arm toward it. Zaeed cannot see his face when it is turned from him.

The gruff mercenary cannot stop the humorless chuckle that falls from his cracked lips. His face is a shadow. "Don't reckon that's the one you're supposed to go to." He can see the heavy motion of Jacob gulping air, twitching once with a spasm.

"It's everywhere. All over the city." There is awe in Jacob's voice that doesn't seem right in such a place. He grunts in pain, his outreaching hand falling into the dirt beside him. His fingers stretch over the cinders along the ground, wet with his own blood. "Like we're floating," he begins to slur.

Zaeed clenches his jaw and stays silent.

Jacob wheezes heavily, body quaking with his gasps. "A floating city. Carrying me home."

Zaeed runs a hand roughly through his hair and hisses at the pain, forgetting the gash along his scalp. He spits into the dirt, suddenly angry. Suddenly not ready to go. "Yeah? Well, fuck off then. Leave the rest of us here beneath your goddamn floating city." Even as he says the words he cringes at the harshness. This is a dying man. A dying man he had fought beside and laughed with and sure, even shouted angrily at a couple times.

But he is _dying_. Zaeed isn't far from it himself. The thought is like a hand around his throat.

Jacob manages to turn his head slowly toward Zaeed and the mercenary's face hardens at his almost unrecognizable visage. And then the dying ex-Cerberus opens his mouth. Mostly blood comes out. A dragging puff of air. And a million things at once yet nothing at all. "There are only graves beneath a city, Zaeed."

He blinks, face pinched tight with anguish.

And shit. Taylor. Fucking Taylor.

Who'd have thought?

The last person and the last place Zaeed ever expected. And truthfully, he had expected to die years ago, with the muzzle of Vido Santiago's gun pressed to his temple. With the sharp whiff of a spent heat sink, the explosive sound blowing out his eardrum, the tang of blood along his tongue like battery acid.

He had expected to die a thousand different times in a thousand different ways.

Zaeed looks out on a decimated Earth. He hadn't been back in years.

Suddenly he thinks of his grandmother's vineyard.

And really, there are worse ways to die.

Straightening up to plant his hands along his knees, breath pulling anxiously in his broad chest, Zaeed smirks. It takes all of him to speak. "I'll dig yours if you dig mine, mate," he gets out, barely a whisper. Mostly a plea.

Mostly haunting and resigned and splashed in blood.

Jacob laughs. It is the last time he does. His fingers convulse over his chest wound and he coughs, harsh, racking his lungs. "It's a deal," he answers. One last gasp of air. Eyes unfocused. Sweat and blood trickling down his cheeks to drip threateningly over the ash-lined dirt.

He twitches once. Twice. After-ripples of death. It is slow and tortured.

Zaeed reaches for his rifle and lays it across his lap, smoothing a hand along the worn metal. Looming closer over the horizon are the deathly wails of a fresh wave of Reaper forces.

Zaeed fills his lungs with the dust-filled air. "Meet you beneath the city."

It is a breathy whisper.

A promise.

A requiem.


	6. Constant

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Anything Goes

Chapter Six: Constant

Prompt: Kaidan

"Power failure"

"' _Kaidan!' he hears Shepard scream before his voice is cut off and a painful feedback bursts through his comm. link."_ \- A series of one-shots and drabbles in the ME universe inspired by prompts in the Mass Effect Fanfiction Writers facebook group.

The Atlas mech's rocket blasts into the fuel canisters just right of Kaidan, sending him sailing across the floor before slamming into a control console, helmet first, the sharp crack of his armor buckling suddenly loud in his ears, shields already burned through from the explosion that propelled him.

"Kaidan!" he hears Shepard scream before his voice is cut off and a painful feedback bursts through his comm. link. The line goes static. Kaidan moans from the painful ache of his neck and back, blinking through the slow inking blackness of his vision. His head throbs tenderly and a single, swift wave of nausea overtakes him before he can steady himself. Everything around him has gone muted. Muffled by the power failure of his helmet's communication line.

Kaidan feels a hand on his elbow dragging him up and he blinks unsteadily at Shepard as he hauls Kaidan back behind the console for better cover. The biotic's implant flares momentarily and his body is flushed in emanating blue, power building in every pour before flickering out with the jarring movement. He blinks through the fog and focuses on his breathing, counts out his heartbeats, holds tight to the rifle Shepard shoves back into his hands.

He looks up and finds Shepard staring down at him and mouthing something he cannot hear with his downed line. Shepard's face is a mixture of barely tempered rage and keen panic, his mouth moving around words that never reach Kaidan.

EDI falls back against their cover of the console, peeking out to unload her submachine gun on the advancing Atlas and send a blazing Incinerate toward the hulking mech. It is the last of the Cerberus forces blocking their path from the hanger to the corridors that will lead them deeper into the base and to the Prothean VI Kai Leng had taken on Thessia.

Kaidan shakes his head at Shepard's soundless commands and points to the fried transponder along the right side of his helmet. Shepard's brows furrow in confusion momentarily, and then understanding washes over him. An explosion rocks the hanger around them as the advancing Atlas sends another rocket toward them, this one blasting along the left side of the console and sending debris blowing out across the tile. Kaidan reflexively covers his head at the thunderous vibration, though the sound of the explosion is little more than a tingling hum. Shepard glances over the edge of the console and then back behind him to EDI.

Kaidan can tell the commander is asking her something, because she turns to him after releasing a heat sink in the enemy mech and mouths silent words back. Shepard's brow furrows, and then he nods, and EDI's visor blinks to life across her eyes, lines of data flashing across the thin screen. Kaidan can hear a slight ticking and then a high-pitched buzz from his comm. line, before it goes dead again. EDI's visor continues to flash across her eyes and Kaidan knows it is only a matter of minutes, if not moments, before she has his transponder working again.

But they may not have moments.

Shepard glances back over the edge of the console and then down to Kaidan. He plants a hand along the biotic's arm and stares determinedly into the Major's eyes. Kaidan already knows what he must do. He knows how to move and when to draw and what the flow of battle feels like alongside Shepard. He has developed a rhythm with the commander, both on and off the field. There is a grace and efficiency in the man's movements, a telltale swiftness and style that has become as familiar as breathing to Kaidan. His elegance on the battlefield is matched only by his raw vulnerability in the bedroom.

And Kaidan knows both intimately.

When Shepard nods once to Kaidan, his mouth in a thin line, eyes bright and steady on him, Kaidan already knows exactly how the next few seconds will play out. His responding smirk is answer enough for Shepard. There is a mischievous glint to the commander's eye and then he is pulling a frag grenade from his belt, flicking the pin clean off with his thumb and lobbing it over their cover toward the Atlas.

Everything happens in the span of a breath. The grenade detonates as it hits the shoulder mechanism of the mech, exploding outward in piping-hot shrapnel, and the massive mech jerks back in an unnatural spasm. Kaidan breaks left from cover, flinging a Warp toward the Atlas, and the powerful blue energy slams into it, rippling the air like a heat wave. Shepard has already activated the Sabotage on his omni-tool and the resulting hiss and click of the mech's mounted turret gun is only heard by the commander.

It is a strange dance of light and silence to Kaidan. The instant soundless barrage of his rifle suddenly feels more powerful. The sharp pivot that Shepard takes around the right side of the console is oddly beautiful, the twist of his body fluid and sinuous, the flaring light of his assault rifle brilliant in the shifted shadows and glare of the hangar.

The Atlas bursts into a fiery demise and it is all silent, all radiant, all suddenly dreamlike and unearthly.

Shepard pants beside him as the wreckage of the mech crumbles to the tiled floor, but it is only the heaving motion of his chest that arrests Kaidan's attention. The commander tosses a smirk his way and he wants to hold this moment forever.

Quiet. Peaceful.

The image of a beaming Shepard and the soundless blaze of fire all around them.

Shepard has never looked so glorious.

Kaidan is almost sorry when he hears the static burst from his comm. link and the stilted, unevenly-pitched voice of EDI filtering through in pieces. And then there is the slow bleeding of the base's alarm into his helmet. And the crackle of flames around them, the sharp snap of EDI loading a new heat sink into her weapon. And then his lover.

" – going to be a bitch if you can't get his transponder back up, EDI. How's it coming?"

Kaidan smirks in response. "I can hear you fine, Shepard," he chuckles, hefting his rifle into low-ready position.

Shepard raises his brows toward EDI in appreciation, and then glances back to Kaidan, his hand coming up to land on the other man's shoulder. "Good to have you back with us," he offers, squeezing his lover's shoulder lightly.

Nodding, Kaidan's own smile is smooth and welcomed along his lips. "Never left, Commander."

He knows, through sound and silence, through ruin and peace, that some things are constant.


	7. In Pieces

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: So this one isn't a prompt from the facebook group but it's a drabble I did off of tumblr. The idea was to do five minutes of unedited writing. So I thought I'd just throw it in this pile of odds and ends. Please enjoy.

Anything Goes

Chapter Seven: In Pieces

 _"'I dreamed you had died,' she whispers in the dark, and Garrus' arm tightens around her waist."_ \- The nightmares don't end with the war. But then, some things are for always.

Shepard learns how to live without a leg. She learns to adjust to seeing through one good eye. She learns to grow accustomed to the harsh lines of burned flesh covering the whole left side of her body. She learns to breathe and walk and live again. Slowly. Step by step. Piece by piece.

And in the aftermath of the Crucible firing, Garrus learns to love her even more.

At night, when Shepard is curled into his side and shaking, her fingers gripping the rough skin of his carapace, he trails a talon through her now coarse hair and hums a lullaby he learned many, many years ago. A lullaby he had hoped to sing to their children. But Shepard's womb is now barren, her body scarred and disfigured, and when she screams in her sleep, Garrus knows it will be a long time, if ever, before she is ready to care for another life.

Right now, it is _her_ life that keeps Garrus focused and steady and tender. He wraps an arm around her waist and she shifts in the sheets to look up at him, blinking her one good eye through the shadows. She swallows thickly and reaches a trembling hand up to touch the scars lining his jaw.

"I dreamed you had died," she whispers in the dark, and Garrus' arm tightens around her waist.

All that she's been through and still, her greatest fear is losing him.

Garrus closes his eyes to the thought, the breath raking through his chest. He feels her run her fingers softly along his jaw and down the length on one mandible. He shivers at the contact. Eyes fluttering open, he nuzzles closer to Shepard. "The spirits couldn't keep me from you," he breathes against her forehead, and she sighs into his chest in response.

She is silent for many moments.

"Do you believe me?" he asks, firmly yet gently. Because he needs her to know. He needs her to _know_.

"I do," she says on a shaky exhale.

He curls a talon around her shoulder and pulls her closer, tucking her into his embrace. Her fingers fall from his wounded face and rest softly along his neck, where she feels the vibrations of his voice when he whispers to her.

"Always," he breathes into her hair.

And she knows. And she believes.

Because even scarred, even broken, even in pieces, they are each only whole when together.


	8. The Silence

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: This prompt is from the tumblr blog shortweeklyfictionchallenge, and was used in the Mass Effect Fanfiction Writer's facebook group for a challenge. I went a bit off canon, and played around with perspective a bit. Please enjoy.

Anything Goes

Chapter Eight: The Silence

Prompt: "Life has no Reset button."

Shepard + James

" _She listens to the ragged breath that leaves him, his voice like shattered stone in his throat. 'Everything I knew…just…gone.'"_ \- A series of one-shots and drabbles in the ME universe inspired by prompts in the Mass Effect Fanfiction Writers facebook group.

"It's just…gone."

Shepard turns at James' whisper. His eyes are unblinking on the holographic layout projected over the war table. The entire Baja California peninsula, all the way up to San Diego, is only scorched earth. The Reapers didn't even bother harvesting, instead taking out the port cities along the Pacific Coast of North America. The dead strip of land is now only a blinking red omen. Thousands dead. All in an instant.

James curls his hands around the rail and clenches tight, his arms shaking as he leans over the map. Shepard can see the twitch in his jaw and the harsh grind of his teeth. She can see the wetness dotting his eyes even now.

But there is nothing she can think to say that will make any of this better. And she's pretty sure that even if she could, it wouldn't matter.

She listens to the ragged breath that leaves him, his voice like shattered stone in his throat. "Everything I knew…just…gone."

Shepard feels the heavy thud of her heart that tells her you don't come back from that.

Her hand is sliding hesitantly over his on the rail when he starts, seeming to have forgotten she was even there. He blinks furiously at her, his chest rising with his labored breaths. He clamps his jaw down on his words because he thinks they might come up as bile if he tries. And the room is too cold and too quiet and there isn't any fucking _air_ in this place and he –

"James." His name on her lips pulls him back.

He steadies his gaze on Shepard's, lets her curl her fingers around his on the rail.

"I grew up in La Paz, you know?" he manages to croak out. But his voice seems so foreign, so distant. Like a storm wind that batters against the windows but can never quite break the glass.

Shepard shakes her head. "No, I didn't."

James nods, slowly at first, and then adamantly, swiftly. As though just the knowledge, just the simple truth of the memory will be strong enough to hold him up.

There is a blaring moment of silence that stretches out before them where neither speaks. They barely even breathe. It is a still and quiet break that happens then. A barely-controlled shudder that racks his whole body. His face, pinched tight with the effort of simply trying not to _scream_. His chest, ravaged and throbbing.

He wonders if you can die from this pain. If you can't just simply drop from grief.

Because he very nearly does.

And when his mouth opens to say more but it's a choked whimper that escapes, when he shakes his head, only just, only slightly, because he knows the tears will spill if he does more, and when his knees buckle and he sinks to the cold floor of the Normandy – when he shatters and Shepard fucking _sees_ it – all she can do is follow him down.

His hands slip from the rail and he barely catches himself on the floor, the first, ragged roar of devastation breaking from him like a it was ripped straight from his gut. Shepard's hands are around his shoulders, across his back, bracing along his neck and holding his head to her shoulder. Her knees ache where she had dropped before him but it is a distant pain. She can only feel his trembling fingers bunching in her uniform, and the heavy exhale of his breath smothered in her shoulder. She can only feel the way he quakes and rages against her.

"We should have gone back," he chokes out against her, half a scream, half a sob.

"No, James, it – it doesn't – " Her tongue stills in her mouth with the bitterness of her useless words. They die a forgotten death in her throat.

"We should have gone back!" This time it is a scream. This time, it's his head whipping back to look at her, to search her shifting eyes with his own frantic ones. This time, it's his anger bleeding into his grief. It paints his face in red and sharpness. His desperation blooms just beneath his skin, as loud and deafening as the crack of bone. As fragile as ashes.

"James," Shepard begins, swallowing that stinging slice of regret until it's no longer bile on her tongue. She moves her hands to his shoulders and holds him there. And how she wishes for a different world in this moment, a different galaxy. How she hates that it comes down to this, this inescapable, brutal truth: "There is no going back, James. There never is."

He sucks in a sharp breath, his brows angling down in fierce denial, and then he is pushing from her, flinging her hands off of him. He braces himself back along the floor, eyes boring into the cool metal panel of the war table. He focuses on a single spot and holds it, his whole body trembling with his biting grief and helpless rage.

Shepard slowly leans back on her haunches, her hands falling to her sides, useless. Something inside her breaks from the inevitable. Something inside her dies. "We can never go back." Her whisper is like distant thunder. She shakes with the frailty of it.

James doesn't answer her. He doesn't move his gaze from that single, damned spot. He curls his hands into fists and tries not to scream.

They breathe together in the sudden weight of the room, in the hush from the fallout, in the stillness of the aftermath.

James has a word on his tongue. It is jagged and heavy, too bitter to swallow and too sweet for air. 'Why' hangs on his lips like the first breath of rain in a desert.

But he doesn't think she has an answer for him, at least, not one that means anything. And he can't form the word without the threat of tears following quickly behind. So he closes his eyes and swallows it back. Lets it fade into his grief like blood in water. The silence bears it all away.


	9. Behind the Mask

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Anything Goes

Chapter Nine: Behind the Mask

Prompt: Shepard + Second Character of Your Choice

"I've always loved you"

 _"Kal follows her reluctantly. 'And we're heading straight for the bar because…?'"_ \- A series of one-shots and drabbles in the ME universe inspired by prompts in the Mass Effect Fanfiction Writers facebook group.

"Shepard, why are we here?" Kal'Reegar sighs his question as he glances around the main floor of Afterlife.

Shepard takes his elbow and drags him across the floor to the bar, waving his question off. "I need some information from Aria."

Kal follows her reluctantly. "And we're heading straight for the bar because…?"

"Because one should never interrogate on an empty stomach," she responds cheerily, stopping before the bar and trying to squeeze her way between a turian and an asari waiting on drinks.

Kal crosses his arms and chuckles at the look of distaste the asari shoots Shepard's way when she nudges her aside. "I don't think liquor quite counts as sustenance."

"It does in my case," she shoots back, smile blinding, before turning back to the bar and calling over one of the bartenders. She motions for a cocktail and leans an elbow along the bar's edge, peeking back at Kal. "Want something?"

He merely points to his mask silently.

"Ah," Shepard laughs, "Yes. Got it."

Kal shakes his head and looks out over the dance floor.

"Hasn't Tali shown you her fancy new emergency induction port?" Shepard calls, grabbing the fruity drink the bartender hands her and then squeezing back through the small crowd of people to his side.

He throws a look her way and she doesn't even need to see past the mask to recognize it. "You mean her straw?"

Shepard snorts her laughter, pulling her drink to her mouth.

"That's for amateurs. I use a twice-filtered intake valve set to quarter width." He uncrosses his arms and leans back on one leg as he looks to her.

Shepard stops mid-sip, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. "You're making that up," she accuses, lowering her drink.

He stays unmoving before her. "Prove it," he teases.

A determined smirk spreads across her lips and then she is reaching out for his chin, leaning in close and turning his head back and forth in her hold as her eyes peruse his suit. His chuckle filters through the pounding music of the club and he swats her hands away. "So touchy."

"You like it when I touch you," she challenges, falling back on her heels and smiling up at him.

He shakes his head, and the lights glint off his mask so that for a moment, Shepard swears she can see the faint image of his own smile. "You're too rough," he teases.

She mock gasps, pressing up against him. "Me?"

"Yes, you."

"No such thing as too rough."

He barks a laugh. "My suit begs to differ."

"Well, maybe you should do better maintenance." She gives him a wicked smirk and takes another sip of her drink.

He scoffs playfully, arms recrossing, head cocking toward her. "You know, I always thought it'd be the geth that did me in, not the woman I loved."

Shepard stills, blinking up at him. She stays like that long enough for Kal to glance at her in question.

"What?" he asks, shoulders shrugging.

She swallows back her drink, planting the empty glass on a table beside them. "You said you loved me," she whispers.

"What?" he asks again, this time leaning closer toward her to better hear her through the music.

Shepard shakes herself, clearing her throat and answering once more, louder this time. "You said you loved me."

"Yeah?"

"You've never…said that before." She pulls her lip into her mouth.

Kal rears back slightly, surprised. "I haven't?"

She shakes her head, slowly at first, her smile hesitant and edging steadily across her face.

"Well," he continues, one hand coming up to scratch at his neck, "I thought I did."

Her smile widens.

"You sure?" he questions.

She laughs. "Positive."

"I mean, I've always loved you," he clarifies, shrugging once more, his hands falling back to his side with his casual words.

Shepard shakes her head, her disbelieving chuckle barely heard between them. "You know, you're supposed to tell a girl these kinds of things."

"I thought you'd already know."

"Already know?"

"Yeah, just by…I don't know… _being_ with me." He spreads his hands in the air, palms-up.

Shepard huffs, her lips pursing in mild amusement. "If you don't tell me, how can I know? That's like expecting me to know whenever you're smiling behind that mask."

Kal watches her for a moment, and then he reaches for her waist, pulling her against him. His hand anchors at the small of her back. "But you always know when I'm smiling," he answers teasingly.

Shepard's hands fall to his chest, relishing in the cool metallic feel of his suit. "Not _all_ the time."

Kal's other hand trails up her arm and traces over her bare shoulder before dipping along the edge of her collarbone, exposed in the thin-strapped dress she wore. "Am I smiling now?" he asks huskily, watching her steadily.

Shepard's eyes shift over his mask, her lips parting at his touch. "If you're not then we're doing something wrong," she jokes.

He snorts his amusement, his roaming hand moving to the back of her head and pulling her closer so that he can brace her cheek against the side of his mask, as intimate a gesture as he has ever made in public. He sighs against her, his fingers curling in the hair at the base of her neck. He holds her tightly. "And now?"

She eases into him, her hands sliding up his chest and winding around his neck. "I think I need some more reassuring."

Kal barks a laugh but winds his arms tighter around her. The music pulses through them, and lights shift continuously across their forms. His hand slides up the valley of her back and stops between her shoulder blades. He smirks at the shiver that runs through her at the touch.

"I have, too, you know?" she mutters into his shoulder.

"Hmm?"

"Always loved you." She buries her face in his shoulder and grips him tighter.

"I know," he tells her.

He laughs at her playful shove and knows she can feel his smile pressed to her cheek.


	10. To the Sea and Back

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: Okay, so this is the same prompt as the last chapter but I just couldn't resist. These two have stolen my heart and they won't give it back. Please enjoy.

Anything Goes

Chapter Ten: To the Sea and Back

Prompt: Shepard + Second Character of Your Choice

"I've always loved you"

 _"She blinks, gaze flicking back up to his because she needs to be looking at him when she says it. 'I've only ever loved you.'"_ \- A series of one-shots and drabbles in the ME universe inspired by prompts in the Mass Effect Fanfiction Writers facebook group.

"I just had the most awkward conversation with Jacob Taylor," Shepard says as she enters her cabin, doors _swooshing_ closed behind her. She plants her hands on her hips and looks to Thane sitting in the middle of her couch. It is the usual time for their daily meditation, and for the last two months, Shepard has asked Thane to simply meet her in her cabin. EDI readily allows him access per the commander's orders.

Now, he braces his elbows along his knees, fingers steepled together, and raises a brow to her. "Oh? And what was the cause of this conversation?"

Shepard huffs slightly, dropping her hands from her hips and walking around the coffee table toward him. "Well, I was finishing up my rounds with the crew, checking in with everyone, you know? And as I'm asking Jacob about anyone back home – just friendly get-to-know-you stuff, right? Well, see he…I mean…" Shepard plops down beside Thane and swings her legs up to lay across his lap, her back coming to rest along the arm of the couch. "He says 'Are you sure this is appropriate, ma'am?'" She pulls a face somewhere between incredulity and disgust.

Thane chuckles in response, hands resting along her legs.

"So I ask him what he means and he's all 'Aren't you with Thane?' and I just stop, because, you know, the whole fucking _ship_ already knows I'm with you so I have no idea what he's trying to say here and then he goes 'Sorry, ma'am, but I'm not interested in being anyone's second choice'." Shepard pulls a heated breath through her nose as her nostrils flare in frustration.

Thane's amused smile widens at her story but he says nothing, only smoothing a hand along the length of her calf.

"And then I'm all 'Whoa'," she recaps, throwing her hands up and then pushing air. "'Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let's just take it back a step there, soldier boy.' And then I had to awkwardly explain that that was _not_ me coming on to him. And then it just…yeah. Downhill from there, as you can imagine." Shepard sighs and relaxes back against the arm of the couch, hands falling to her lap. She quirks a brow at his amused grin. "And…none of this bothers you?"

He pats her knee, once, fingers settling over the joint. "Should it?"

She only shrugs.

"Siha," he begins, "Anyone who truly knows you understands that you are incapable of a wayward heart. His misinterpretation only serves to illuminate his own faulty perception. It says nothing about the virtue of your actions."

Shepard smiles blindingly. "Good to know you have confidence in me."

"I always have."

Shepard looks to her hands fingering the edge of her sweatshirt. "And you know I've always loved you, right?" she mumbles, suddenly realizing she has never said the words before. She blinks, gaze flicking back up to his because she needs to be looking at him when she says it. "I've only ever loved you."

His smile softens, and he raises one hand to gently stroke her cheek. "The genuineness of your ardor was never in question," he assures her.

She pulls her lip between her teeth, chest rising with uncertain breaths. "And you? Do you love me?"

Thane's hand trails back along her jaw, his dark eyes shifting between her own. His smile is suddenly gone, his whole face marred in unquestionable certainty. "'Love' is too inadequate a word to describe what you stir in me, siha."

Her lips part at his confession and his gaze flicks to them. She pulls in a sharp, anticipatory breath when he leans in, sure and purposeful. His hand braces along the back of her neck to hold her to him as he presses his mouth to hers. Her lids flutter closed. Their lips part at the same time and he delves his tongue in slowly, sliding it languidly against hers until she is breathless. She drinks in his warmth and moans at the deft strokes of his tongue, feeling the hand along her knee start to ease up her thigh. She doesn't expect it when he pulls from her suddenly, panting.

She blinks her eyes open at his retreat.

"Forgive me," he breathes against her mouth.

Her brows furrow in question. His hand grips her thigh tighter and she arches her back minutely, already anticipating more.

"I pride myself on precision," he explains. "On a meticulous choice of words and action. On unrivaled accuracy. And yet, I have failed to aptly articulate the depth of my desire for you."

Shepard's eyes crinkle with her slow, devilish smile. "Well, you could always _show_ me," she offers, pulling one knee up to move her leg around him. He adjusts without instruction, pulling his hand from her hair and shifting along the couch so that her legs are braced on either side of him.

His own roguish smile curls along his lips as he crawls atop her with all the ease and smoothness of his profession. He leans down over her, his hand along her thigh sliding up over the curve of her hip and then under her sweatshirt. Her breath hitches as his touch spreads across the smooth skin of her stomach, edging higher, and she pulls her knees up along his hips. He braces his other hand along the couch and smirks down at her. "It may take some time for me to… _thoroughly_ …express my feelings on the matter." He rolls his hips into hers with the words.

"Mmm," she responds, fingers dancing up his chest and curling over his shoulders. "We better get started then," she chuckles, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

Thane presses closer to her, his breath hot between them when he stops his lips just before hers. "To the sea and back?" he pants against her mouth, the words suddenly both hopeful and fearful to Shepard's ears.

She slides her hands to the back of his neck and holds him to her. "To the sea and back," she promises.

She catches the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes just before he closes the distance between them and kisses her thoroughly.


	11. Some Things Scottish

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: This one was off a prompt from tumblr for "cooking together sweet moments" with a pairing of my choosing, and so I chose those lovable dorks, Gabby and Ken. Oh my god guys, I actually managed to write something under 1k words. Toast me!

Some Things Scottish

"' _I'm not a real Scottish woman, Kenneth.' 'No, but you're my woman, and being Scot myself, you're officially tainted by association, girl.' He grins smugly at her. She pinches his arm and revels in his pained yowl."_ \- Gabby and Kenneth explore the taste of Scotland.

"I'm not eating that."

Kenneth lowers the ladle back into the soup pot and throws an exasperated look Gabby's way. She braces her hands against the counter beside him, reeling back after sniffing the air.

"You haven't even _tried_ it, Gabby." His shoulders slump with the words.

"I said I'm not eating it."

He raises his brows in a challenging manner. "I never thought you to be a coward, Gabriella Daniels."

At that, Gabby purses her lips and narrows her eyes at him. "You can't taunt me into _that_ ," she intones, finger waggling over the pot.

Kenneth leans down and takes a lingering, full waft of the scent. "Ah, smell that, would you? You haven't had real Scottish food until you've tried me mum's Cullen Skink."

Gabby rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "I don't do fish, Kenneth, you know that."

Kenneth balks at her. "Finnan haddie isn't just _fish_ , Gabby, it's…it's…well, you'd know if you were a real Scottish woman."

She cocks her head at him. "I'm _not_ a real Scottish woman, Kenneth."

"No, but you're _my_ woman, and being Scot myself, you're officially tainted by association, girl." He grins smugly at her.

She pinches his arm and revels in his pained yowl. "You can't turn me, you know."

Kenneth lets go of the ladle and turns fully to her, winding his hands around her waist. "I might yet," he teases.

She shakes her head, her hands falling to his shoulders. "Don't get your hopes up."

He leans in and plants his lips just below her ear. "I'm _quite_ persuasive, you know, given the chance."

"Hmm," she muses, sucking in a sharp breath as his mouth trails along her jaw and toward her lips.

He stops just before her mouth. "You don't know what you're missing, girl."

She smiles against his lips, hands winding around his neck and slinking into his hair. "I'm beginning to see," she teases back.

His chuckle is breathy and short-lived, because then Gabby is pressing her mouth to his and pulling him into her. He responds eagerly, stumbling into her as they back into the opposite counter. He braces his hands along her hips as he kisses her, a rumble of satisfaction spreading from his chest. She parts her lips for him and moans along his tongue when he slides it deftly in. Her fingers curl in his hair and his grip tightens on her hips as he fixes her to the counter, pressing bodily into her. They break from each other breathless and smiling.

"Well," Gabby begins, licking her lips, and Kenneth releases a low groan at the motion, his eyes transfixed by her mouth, "I suppose _some_ things Scottish can taste good."

Kenneth releases a heavy breath against her mouth at the words, one hand sliding up her back to press her to him once more, his mouth already eager for hers again. "Come here, girl," he exhales.

She giggles into the kiss and lets him hoist her up onto the counter, her legs coming around his waist. She laughs at his impatience, breaking from him for a moment, her hands bracing against his cheeks. "What about your 'colored sink'?" she butchers purposely, chin jutting toward the forgotten soup on the kitchen island.

He growls lightly, nipping at her lips. "Forget it," he murmurs huskily. "I'd rather taste you."

As they move into the kiss once more, hands greedy and impatient, laughter bubbling up between them, Gabby thinks this cooking thing might have its merits after all.


	12. Slate-Grey

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Anything Goes

Chapter Twelve: Slate-Grey

Prompt: Anyone other than Shepard

"What You Don't Want to Remember"

 _"As the monastery billows smoke and ash and clouds of blood-tinged cinders behind them, Samara remembers her blue-eyed daughters."_ \- A series of one-shots and drabbles in the ME universe inspired by prompts in the Mass Effect Fanfiction Writers facebook group.

Samara doesn't want to remember.

She looks into Falere's eyes – slate grey, like the still-hot chamber of her pistol, like the color of her palm when a shadow has overtaken it, like that morning – years and years and _years_ ago – when she had walked from her sweet daughter and left her behind darker-than-grey walls.

Like that morning she had called it _just_.

Rila and Morinth were the only ones whose eyes had ever been the devastating (tragic) blue that hers were.

As the monastery billows smoke and ash and clouds of blood-tinged cinders behind them, Samara remembers her blue-eyed daughters. She remembers the way they laughed when they were living. And the way they screamed when they were dying.

Samara doesn't want to remember.

Her slate-grey child trembles before her, hands over her eyes, sobs crushed against her palms, gasping for air when there is none.

The Justicar's grief is half a shade darker than Falere's eyes and not nearly as breath-catching.

"The Code demands an Ardat Yakshi cannot live outside a monastery that does not exist." Her words come easier than she thinks they should. Maybe – Samara finally realizes – it is because this is the only easy decision she has ever made as a Justicar.

 _"I can't choose to stop being your daughter, Mother."_

Morinth's voice filters through her thoughts until it is a sorrowful whisper at her heart – a soft and hollow regret.

"Mother," Falere chokes out, fingers falling down her sodden cheeks. She sobs again, her mouth a shuddering thing. "Mother."

 _That word._

Samara doesn't want to remember.

A shadow passes between them, slanted and sharp and cutting the light from their eyes – those eyes – blue and grey and everything in between, everything that sharpens the fear in her gut into a sure and even blade.

She has always known how to hold a weapon – even that which should feel wrong in her hand.

When her last – her only, her trembling, her straight-spined – daughter , when she locks those unblinking eyes on her mother's, Samara reminds herself that slate, even when broken, is a smooth and resilient thing.

"My daughters," she begins, and ends, "You were all so much stronger than I believed."

She rests the muzzle of her pistol at her temple.

Samara doesn't want to remember.

So she doesn't.


End file.
